Some things are worth noticing, but aren't worth writing down. They just aren't that important or useful. This is about the other things.

Sunday, August 6, 2017

Sometimes, life is a bully on the bus.

Here is a brave person who is saying "hi" to her new forest.

When I was twelve, I shared a daily bus ride to junior high school with my friends, the other twelve-year-olds. We all seemed to be doing life pretty well until we
came to Marcia's stop.

You could see from her expression, if Marcia, who was
pretty, mean, moody and inexplicably popular, was out to tank someone's day, or not.

You didn't want her to make eye contact with
you. You didn't want her to ignore you. Her weapon of choice was random silent treatment.

And so, did I, as
well as the others, do everything we could to buoy Marcia's spirits, make her
feel good about herself, laugh at her jokes, all in hopes of not being picked
on, or off? Yes, I and we
did.

On the list of
things that can make life tough for a pre-teen, being frozen out for absolutely
no reason by the popular kid is 1 through 3: Friend doesn't like you. Friends
of friend don't like you. You don't like you.

You can turn on
yourself when there's a Marcia in your life, convinced you did something to
deserve her wrath when of course, you've done nothing but show up in the same place
you show up in every day.

Had my mother
explained that, I would have said something like, "I really hate American
Chop Suey. Why do you keep making it?" because to a twelve-year-old in a
world that hinges on a daily bus ride, that kind of exchange with another
innocent makes sense.

And, sometimes life
is a Marcia.

Life last week was
such a Marcia, I went to my therapist for a touch-up.

Without going into
detail, it was a stew of medical scares and waiting and tests and more waiting
and results and bullets dodged, followed by a massive computer glitch, and
followed next by an incidence of blurry vision which actually seemed symbolic.
I was, literally, too stressed to see straight.

Everything turned
out okay, or will. But for three or four days, it seemed like everyone I know,
and I to a lesser extent, had made contact with Marcia-life.

I am nice to
strangers, I love my beings and tell them so. I state my needs, I think about
what other people are facing, and send them cards. I'm patient with our dog who
is a pinball, and I treat the cat like there is only one like him in the world,
which is true.

I do it in part
because it's what nice people do. But I know I do it also to stay on life's good side, because the connection between these behaviors and a life that has smiled on me
seems pretty apparent in some cause and effect corner of my brain.

I kind of, sort of,
think life should take that into consideration when it is preparing to be
Marcia and needs a target.

So, I looked
skyward one morning last-week and asked my God in a nice way, WTF?

My God said,
"Remember the album?"

Marcia had gone to
my house when I wasn't home, lied her way in, and taken an album that my brother
had let me borrow only after I promised to introduce him to a girl he liked, and probably offered a security deposit.

I knew where Marcia
hung out, and I went there.

The first thing
that happens when life is a Marcia – a job loss, a serious illness, a death, a
divorce – is that nothing looks like it
used to for a while. It is mystifying, disorienting, and frightening to look
around at all your stuff, all your people and habits and all that you're used
to and feel like you don't actually understand this forest after all.

You only know you
still have a choice in how you'll recalculate.

When I caught up
with Marcia she was holding court in a parking lot near the Dairy Queen. I
walked straight over to her.

I said, "Give
it back."

The conversation
around us stopped.

She said some bad
words, I said some bad words, she shoved the album into my hand and yelled more
bad words at my back as I walked away.

I remember having a
feeling I've had only a handful of times since, and it was of knowing that my whole world was going to be one
different forest in the morning. And that I would need a map. And that I would
draw one.

It was a relief.

I lost my friends and
replaced them with better ones.

None of them were
Marcias.

Last week presented
several views of a different forest to me. But today, I'm remembering that if I
have less control over how Marcia behaves, I have the fortitude and strength to
be mightier than she thinks I am.

I think most of us are blessed not to be tested, or scared. Life is how we hope it will be, probably, for the most part.

But I like to think that most of us will know what to do, if we're ever forced to show ourselves in a Dairy Queen parking lot.

I am 75 and there are still "Marcia's" in my world. I, like you, know that you don't need Marcia or her friends. When the discovery that Marcia is not a good choice for a friend is made, it is more freeing than flying. With that type of person the idea of growing out of middle school behavior is unthinkable. Thank you Susan. Great post.

I hope those ghosts of "Marcia's Past" leave you alone and things begin to look up soon.

Do you ever wonder what became of the "Marcia's" in life? I do. I wonder if they ever look back on their behavior with regret or if they're still taking delight in making other people miserable. Guess I'll never know but it is something I think about sometimes.